


If I have to

by Sunny_Neko



Series: Myct Universe [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, References to Canon, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunny_Neko/pseuds/Sunny_Neko
Summary: With some minor convincing sbi has captured George in an attempt to get back at Dream for gaslighting Tommy and playing the role of a puppet master.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Series: Myct Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105262
Comments: 26
Kudos: 177





	1. Trust is a fragile thing

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating every Tuesday until it gets finished, so stick around?

“Hey George, how are you doing?” Philza greeted the colourblind boy warmly. Said boy was walking through the outskirts of the forest nearby. Presumably collecting supplies for a new project. 

George looked up, waving. “Philza, I’m doing well. How about you, just stopping by?” 

Philza smiled over at him, “Actually, Wilbur, I mean Ghostbur, wanted to show you something. He asked me to come and get you.” he explained with a casual air. 

He hummed in agreement, “Alright then, I just need to stop some stuff off. Then we can go.” George affirmed easily. 

“Yeah,” Philza agreed, “Let’s go drop your stuff off. Just can’t leave him waiting too long, you know.” George laughed lightly, nodding. 

They started to walk at a fast pace in the direction of George’s hobbit hole, “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be really quick. Don’t worry.” George reassured. 

Chuckling, Philza headed after him. “No worries. I’m sure Ghostbur will be fine.” The two-headed to the small house, while Philza waited outside on the bridge. George went in to put his excess stuff in the chests. 

“Alright, let’s go then?” George asked, making a grand arm movement in front of him as he emerged. 

Nodding, Philza made his way back closer to town. Why George had built his little house so far was a mystery, but he wasn’t going to question it. 

When they reached a rather rocky place, Philza came to stop. Turning to face George. 

George looked at him, inquisitive, “Are we here?” 

Ten seconds later the brit lay unconscious on the grass. Blood trickling down the side of his head.


	2. Shackles to the floor

When George woke up, the first thing he noticed was his throbbing headache. Attempting to lift his hands to ease the pain, he found his hands cuffed to the floor. A glance down told him his feet were also in shackles. 

Testing his restrictions, George gingerly shook out his limbs. The cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles every time he moved them too far. He was well and bound. 

“How are you liking your accommodations Georgie boy?” A mocking voice came from outside the cell. Peering up through the bars he saw Philza, Tommy, Ghostbur, and Technoblade. The whole Sleepy Inc. 

He bristled instinctively, yanking back only to be held in place by the chains. “George, George. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to get to Dream. Do you understand that?” Techno spoke up. 

George nodded wordlessly. Get to Dream, why were they doing that through him? Why was he the person they were using? What value did he have? 

“Okay, great. I know this isn’t favorable but we can’t have you escaping. We need you for Dream.” Techno explained. Waiting for George to react. He just got another nod. 

Continuing on with his explanation, “The chest beside you should have food and water for you. There should also be a healing potion for your head. We wrapped it, but we weren’t going to force-feed you.” 

George turned to the chest, opening it. It was filled with bread, water, a bucket of milk, and a healing potion as promised. “Drink the milk first, you still have weakening on you,” Philza advised helpfully. 

Hands shaking, George did as told. Slurping up around half the milk. Then downing the contents of the potion, hands shaking. The effects took immediately, the throbbing gratefully ceasing. 

“Thanks,” George whispered out, voice thick and his accent laying on heavily. 

“Sorry about your voice, that might last for a while.” Philza apologized, turning on a heel to leave. 

They filed out until only Ghostbur was left, “Sorry Gogy.” He whispered softly and somberly. George nodded swiftly, and then he was left in the gloom of the jail cell by himself. 

He let his body deflate, exhaling deeply. His shoulders slump against the wall. The cold nipping at George’s skin, reminding him of his earlier choice to leave his jumper at home.


	3. Trapped and chained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean no offense, but this chapter is small tw: sorta detailed descriptions of violence.

Shadows flickered across the cell with the torches flames. The hissing and groaning of mobs constantly plagued his mind in the otherwise silence. It was hard to sleep any longer than 20 minutes max. 

A few days or so in the torch had burnt down to its stump. George watched helplessly as the last remaining cinders dropped to the floor before flickering out. A window down the hall from his cell quickly becoming his only source of light.

So slowly George lost track of how long he’d been down in the cell, occasional footsteps were heard above. He couldn’t move far from the ground and soon he felt the tension grow in his cramped muscles. 

He felt the desperate need to get up. To move. Yet the constant sting against his raw skin reminded him of why he couldn’t. Not even to stand up.

The fatigue weighed heavy on his eyes, and he found himself entertained every now and then by opening the chest and closing it. Open close, open, close. Creak, clank. The chains rattled as he amused himself.

So when fast-paced footsteps came down the hall after the long solitude, George jolted forward as quickly as he could. Staring anxiously. It was Tommy, the teen now equipped with an arctic blue fur cloak. A compass used as its pendant. 

“Long time no see Gogy. God, you look horrible.” Tommy remarked, entering his cell. The key swayed, taunting him from the boy’s fingertips. 

It slotted into his chains, his ankles freed completely. Falling off with a satisfying clunk. The handcuffs were kept on, but released from the floor. 

With the newfound freedom, George stood up. Wobbling, his eyesight blacking out. While the spots were still clearing, he found himself being harshly tugged along. Stumbling around, hitting his shoulders against the walls. 

He was shoved into the wall, “Climb, no funny business.” Scaling up the ladder with much difficulty, he finally reached the main layer. The cold arctic sun paining on his now completely sheet white skin. 

A potion was firmly planted onto his lips before being shoved down his throat. It instantly sapped him of any energy or strength he originally had. Which admittedly, wasn’t much. 

He felt like crumpling to the floor, his knees wobbly and weak. But he was kept upright with a firm but not kind hand on his back. 

Brought outside, he blinked in the sudden bright sunlight. Blinding light reflecting off the pure white snow. He was re-chained to a wall, which seemed to be there for this specific purpose. 

The ankle shackles put back on, chained down to the floor. Just like his arms. Anchored solidly to the ground. 

Slumping down on the wall tiredly, he let his eyes adjust to the sun. Looking around, trying to take in his surroundings. When the cold clamp of metal came down around his mouth. 

It was a mask of metal, which was designed similarly to a bit for horses. Yet beyond that, it covered the whole lower half of his face. The chill bit into his face, burning him. 

“Can’t have you screaming for help” A gruff voice told him, with an additional pat on the shoulder. 

He watched as the four members of Sleepy Bois Inc stood in the snow, fully armoured. Then a form came into view. Was it... Dream? 

George looked on wearily, as his figure came into even more clarity. “GEORGE!” Dream yelled, almost desperately. George gave a weak smile back before he realized Dream couldn’t see it. 

He glanced upwards to see Techno standing over him, sword in hand. Crossbow beside him. 

“Don’t take another step Dream, or he gets hurt.” Philza’s voice cut through the air. The sword in Techno’s hand moved to rest on his shoulder. Causing his muscles to tense. 

Dream glared at Philza coldly, “Don’t. Tell. Me. What. To. Do. Give. George. Back.” He grounded out, taking a step forward boldly, sword drawn. 

The blade ripped through his skin, digging down into his shoulder. Unable to scream out in pain, tears welled up in his eyes. 

Halting, Dream looked between George and Philza quickly with growing desperation in his eyes. “What do you want.” He spat angrily. 

“We want.” Philza started, “For you to release your hold on L’manburg. Give the discs back. Apologize to Tommy.” 

Dream looked at them coldly, “I won’t. Even if, I don’t have the discs, I don’t do anything to L’manburg that’s all them, the government. And I won’t apologize to Tommy, to any of you.” He hissed. 

“Fine.” Philza spit back, just as coldly. Bitter resentment lining his words.

The blade dug deeper into his shoulder, tears spilling down his face. Pooling down in the mask. He whimpered in pain. Screwing his eyes closed in pain. 

George felt his consciousness waver as sounds became more distant, vaguer. It was floating away, and time seemed to warp. 

Then deft hands were working quickly at his chains. They made a metallic thunk as they hit the ground. George opened his eyes to see Dream bending over him to work at the shackle on the mask. 

Glancing around he saw Tommy passed out, Philza carrying him away. Ghostbur nowhere in sight, and Techno across the snow loading his crossbow. 

George watched as the arrow shot out towards them, almost in slow motion. Waiting until the arrow had been shot to lift his hand up. The arrow’s metal tip sank into the ruined flesh of his wrist. 

Watching Techno’s eyes blow up in shock, he weakly moved his hand to tell him away. To his luck, Techno didn’t seem like he wanted a round two with Dream. Walking back carefully. 

The arrow barely hurt in the already injured skin. And with the rush of adrenaline, it only seemed bothersome. Despite this, George was fully aware it would be a great pain later on. 

And with that, he collapsed like a deadweight into Dream’s arms. Breathing in deeply, before dropping unconscious.


	4. Please be better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter but I didn't have as much time. Lol.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Dream muttered under his breath as he ran through the arctic snow, George in his arms. The brit had lost consciousness completely, shortly after taking an arrow for him. 

George looked pitifully small, and it made his blood boil hot red. It made him want to go back and murder all of the Sleepy Boi Inc. Bags weighed heavily under George’s eyes, which he was sure mirrored his own. 

The skin was worn red and raw around his wrists and ankles where the shackles had rubbed George’s skin. Dirty bandaging swathed his head, indicating at a prior injury. 

Pushing through his door, not bothering to close it behind him. Dream walked as humanly fast as possible without jostling George in his arms. Going upstairs he settled George on his own bed. 

Turning he rushed back through the house to his chest room. Frantically searching them for something, anything to help George. Running back up the stairs, closing the front door on his way. Holding the bundle of supplies. 

Using a steady hand, Dream gripped the arrow's base holding George’s arm down with his other hand. And then swiftly yanked it out of his wrist. Suddenly glad that George wasn’t conscious for this. 

Wrapping it with deft but cautious fingers. Watching helplessly as the bandaged stained a bloody red. Picking up the glass bottle, Dream smashed it. Pink fog curling up into the air, completely intoxicating it.

Breathing in the smoke, it felt cold and refreshing to his lungs. Like a deep breath of brisk fresh air. Yet warm and drowsy on the inside. Resembling a really nice hug, that makes you feel nice and loved.

When it cleared, Dream watched the wound on George’s shoulder blade knit itself back together, leaving a decent sized scar. The whole area of the cut pulsing red.

Warily, he removed the dirty bandaging around his head. Cautious of the unknown injury. The lack of knowledge of how it was caused, daunting enough. 

Luckily, there was nothing left but a bump and slight discolouration. Carding through George’s hair affectionately, his own posture slumped. Dream fell asleep moments later, hand falling away.


	5. Nothing much important on the hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is now awake, rise and shine pain boy. (Sorry)

George blinked awake, looking around. Warm sunlight flooded into the room, hitting Dream’s face. His porcelain mask was discarded on the bedside table. The dyed leather straps still loosely tied at the ends. 

Taking a moment to adjust to the light, the prior day's events flooded back to him. Wincing he looked at his wrist finding it bandaged, no arrow insight. A shot of bright white pain ran through his shoulder and he sighed heavily. 

Slipping from the bed, carefully pushing the sheets off his body. George observed a few recent bloodstains that had more than likely come from him. Feet unsteady under him, he used the headboard to steady himself. 

Unused to using his legs after such a long time, George padded around experimentally. Flexing his arms out to their full wingspan, stretching out his legs gently. Careful of his injuries. 

“Good morning.” Came a voice from behind him. Turning saw Dream, his eyes newly opened. George smiled at him, giving him a small wave. 

Dream walked over, wrapping his arms around George. Enveloping him in a gentle hug, “Do you know how worried I was?” George shook his head wordlessly. 

A switch seemed to flip in Dream’s mind. “Can you talk? I figured the splash potion took care of everything, but I don’t know…” He rambled anxiously, pulling back to look George in the face. 

George let out a low chuckle, “I’m fine Dream.” Voice a quiet rasp from lack of usage. 

Dream sighed in relief, “At least there’s that. Do you need anything?” He inquired, running George down with his eyes. 

George let out a huff, “A shower would be nice.” Dream nodded letting George lean on him for support as they walked down the hall. 

After George had closed the bathroom door behind him, Dream busied himself. Rustling through his closet trying to find clothes that would fit George’s much smaller physique. 

Finally picking some semi-decently sized clothing, Dream dropped it off at the door with a knock. Before heading back to the bedroom to wash the bloodied sheets. 

\----------

George let the water run down his body, hitting his back rhythmically. The consistent pressure of the water beaming down on him, steam billowing up. Radiating warmth in soft waves. 

Taking care of his injuries, careful to wash the dried blood off his body. Scrubbing weeks' worth of grime with as firm of a hand as he could manage. Wincing when he overused his wrist or shoulder blade.

Stepping out into the steamy bathroom, he dried off. Rubbing his face thoroughly with the towel. Mussing with his hair to air it out. 

Cracking the door open, he swiped the clothes out from outside the door. Donning the oversized garments. Rolling up the cuffs on the grey sweatpants. Chuckling to himself as the hoodie dropped down to his knees. 

Walking down to find Dream, footing unsteady. Putting his arms out for balance as he wobbled around precariously. Getting down the stairs was a chore of its own. 

\----------

Dream now with his mask situated on his face, smiled as George eventually got himself down to the workroom. A healthy shade colour back into his cheeks, his skin still a page white. He was drowned in Dream’s hoodie, hair damp and astray. 

“You look well.” He noted to George, turning away unnecessarily to try to hide the growing pink stain spreading across his face. George laughed lightly, stumbling over. 

Bumping Dream’s shoulder affectionately, “We should probably go visit people. Tell them alive.” George recommended wisely. 

Dream handed George a cooked porkchop, ruffling his hair to the brit’s irritation. “Can you walk well enough?” Dream asked worriedly. 

“Probably not. But it’s worth a try.” George shrugged, munching on the meat. 

Dream considered for a moment, “You can ride on my back, that would work.” He proposed. Eyeing George as he finished off his food. 

George looked over nonchalantly, “Sure.” He agreed, steadying himself on the countertop with a hand. “Want to get going then?” 

Nodding Dream lifted George up onto the counter space. Reaching down he grabbed a pair of high laced boots. He squatted down to lace them up to the top. Tying them off with a double knot. 

“I found these while I was walking around.” Dream suddenly mentioned, grabbing something from his pocket. It was his white goggles. Taking them gratefully, George fitted them onto his head. 

Turning around, Dream allowed him an able space to climb on. George pushed himself to the edge of the counter gingerly, before wrapping his arms and legs around Dream. Shifting to situate himself comfortably.

Standing up straight, Dream paused a moment to let George readjust. His lips quirked upwards at how light George was. Although he didn’t mention it as they left the house. The door closing behind them with a solid clunk.


	6. Social interaction... people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating, they visit people.

Tramping over to the town, George’s leg’s swaying gently as they went along. The toes of his boots just barely brushed the tops of the tall grass. 

Luckily Dream’s main base was only a short walk from the main town. Even if it was obscured in the forest area. Roots determined to trip up any trespassers. 

As they eventually reached the main path, walking through the gates unnoticed for the meantime. Going along the town paths, waving and greeting people as they went along. 

“GEORGE!” Screamed a happy voice from behind them. Dream, turning, saw Sapnap hurling towards them. The ends of his headband fluttered behind him. 

Upon arrival, Sapnap paused, out of breath. Panting heavily, before looking up, “Where were you? Dream was tearing up everything looking for you.” 

George glanced at Dream with an amused expression dancing across his face. “He did?” He said quietly, coming out all gravely and rough. Laughter semi-successfully stifled, or the pain from it at least.

“Yeah, running into our house’s. Barging around everywhere. You’d’ve thought someone had given the muffin a death threat, how jumpy he was.” A new voice chimed in, giggling quietly. 

Dream looked over at Bad sourly, “I did not!” He quickly defended, letting out a childish huff. 

Following shortly behind Bad was Skeppy, “You totally did. I was watching, as you quite literally. Went through everyone’s stuff. Didn’t even take anything.” The diamond boy cut in sourly. 

George sighed tiredly, despite not doing anything. Talking to and being around people was taxing enough after his long term solitude. Letting his head slump down against Dream’s shoulder. Breathing in deeply, absorbing his scent. 

“I bet he was just sleeping for two weeks out somewhere. Like he always is.” Quackity laughed teasingly, “Weren’t you Gogy?”

George raised his head off Dream’s shoulder slightly, to uncover his mouth. “Didn’t sleep much, to be honest.” He whispered, albeit with minor difficulty. 

“Glad your back George.” Tubbo cut through the tension obliviously, smiling widely. Blatantly ignoring Dream’s glare as it cut through any type of light-hearted mood.

Smiling back warmly, George nodded his thanks. Eyes drooping, he let his arms go lax. Head tucking back down into Dream’s shoulder tiredly. 

“So what have you been doing then, that isn’t sleeping.” Quackity persisted, trying to play it off in his usual playful manner. George was too drowsy to care, while Dream was being careful of the brunt on his back.

George let out a soft groan before muttering, “Cuffed in Techno’s basement. Where else?” At a volume so low, only Dream could hear, who immediately started plotting the sbi demise in his head. Again.

Dream shot a short glare at Quackity before relaying the message, “He said, cuffed in Techno’s basement.” 

Bad’s tail whipped back and forth but kept his mouth shut. Obviously taking George’s fatigue into account of his responses. Quickly attempting to keep his tail under control by coiling it around Skeppy’s leg. 

To Skeppy’s benefit, he didn’t seem surprised or miffed in the least. Simply shifting to intertwine his and Bad’s fingers together. Which everyone respectfully ignored. 

“Sorry, sorry. He’s really done it now hasn’t he. Anyone else?” Quackity backtracked quickly, assuming a more serious stance. 

Karl stood beside Quackity, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s enough babe.” Letting him deflate a little and take a step back. 

Tubbo looked at them for a moment before seeming to calculate something in his head. “Was,” he paused, “Was Tommy part of it?” Tubbo had said it in such a hopeful way, hoping his friend hadn’t been involved. 

Dream glanced over, shifting his gaze uneasily. “Sorry,” he started, watching as Tubbo’s face fell, “I’m so sorry Tubbo.” 

“Oh.” Tubbo sighed, “I just thought- nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Shoulders slumping heavily, “I’ll just go.” 

Bad hurried over, wrapping the teen up in a soft hug. Murmuring comforting words only Bad knew how to say. Letting Tubbo collapse into his arms, rubbing his back rhythmically. 

Turning his head to face the group, “I think we’ll take our leave now.” 

As they left the community house, Dream also turned back with now sleeping George on his back. Returning back to his base.


	7. Let me return the favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I had to change the tags on... since my friend convinced me to add this chapter afterward. One more to go?

Stepping into Techno’s arctic cabin, Dream looked around at the dusty smell that had come with it. Cobwebs clinging to the corners of the wooden beams. 

Opening a couple of the chests there was nothing in them except a few non-essentials. It was beyond obvious no one had been in the house for months. 

Scaling down the ladder in the corner, Dream walked down into the short and cold area under the house. Staring blankly at the cell door, swung wide open. 

A foul bitter smell drifted through the cold room. A shiver running up his spine. Covering his nose with a handkerchief, he stepped forward carefully.

A chest sat in the corner not too far from a now rusted set of chains connected to the floor. The latch on the chest was too worn to even open until he levered it with his axe. 

Inside was an empty bucket and a rotten apple. Closing it again, Dream looked down at the floor. Small reddish-brown stains littered the floor along with other watermarks and rubbish. 

Quickly heading back to the trap door, Dream balanced precariously on the edge of the ladder. Holding a long string in one hand, a flint and steel in the other. 

Striking them together, Dream lit the end of the string. Letting it drop to the ground. And then he ran and ran and ran. Pausing on top of a small hill to watch as the house blew into pieces. 

Satisfied that the place of so much hurt was gone for good. Dream turned on heel pulling something out of his pocket. 

It was a compass, specifically labeled “Techno’s compass.” He had found it in the snow of the battlefield still fully functional. Following it through the trees to a decent few chunks away. 

Pulling back his bow and arrow he completed the task Techno had failed all those months ago. Watching as the arrow sailed through the air, the piglin lord turning two seconds too late. 

Hitting true, Dream ran as fast as his legs could take him. Careful to drop the compass as he ran. Ensuring either Philza or Tommy would find it. The favour had been returned.


	8. I don't have to today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're done. Some stuff is left open to interpretation but this is just short and sweet. Brain rotting fluff if you will. Thank you for reading this far.

Dream woke up nose to nose to a familiar vanilla wildflower scent that reminded him of deep sleep at the end of a hard day and home. Breathing in the comforting scent, Dream slit his eyes open. 

Cuddled next to him under the covers was his unfairly pretty boyfriend. Beams of early sun filtering through the curtains, falling across his face softly highlighting his pale skin, small barely noticeable freckles lightly dotting his face. 

Watching as the deep caramel-like eyes slowly blinked open, pupils dilating to adjust to the morning light. Before finding Dream’s eyes, as he felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards. 

“Good morning George.” Dream whispered adoringly, voice thick with sleep. 

George smiled at him sweetly, “Good morning Dream.” His hand pulling up to lazily caress Dream’s jawline before dropping back down onto the covers. Dream leaning into the touch gently, tugging George closer. Rubbing his thumb over the scar on his shoulder.

They lay like that for a while, not completely awake but not dozing. Just enjoying each other's presence. Breathing soft words to each other, with no reason other than they didn't have to get up until they wanted to. Simply, they didn't have to.


End file.
